Page 64

Over the last two years, I’ve relearned what taking care of myself means. Not daily hygiene rituals or making sure I eat when I’m hungry; I mean, truly taking care of myself. Learning to make real food, not just ordering out. Scrubbing my home clean, instead of paying someone to do it just because I have the money. Feeding my spirit, rather than basking in the raunchy affirmations of someone else.

In the time I’ve had to myself, while it’s been selfish, I’ve been itching for a moment to be selfless. A moment to share what I’ve learned and pass it to someone else.

“I hate you,” she mutters, but then she lifts the burger to her lips.

I allow myself a quick smile.

“Say it again, and I’ll make it three bites.”

The color of her skin flushes red, her light freckles dancing as a deep scrunch crosses her nose.

“If you keep talking to me like that, I won’t eat anything.”

I use this time to finish my burger, setting my plate at the edge of the table. I can practically feel her animosity reaching for me through her eyes.

“Trust me, Sofia, I’d much rather tell you about how hard your little attitude has my cock underneath this table, but we won’t be leaving here until you take two more bites.”

The muscle in her jaw ticks, but she takes a big, angry bite. No comeback is necessary; the squirm she thought she hid under the table was telling enough.

“Happy?” she sasses, licking some ketchup off her lip.

When she finishes half of the burger, and almost her entire strawberry shake, I reward her with a small nod. I rise from the booth, holding my hand out for her to take it, and she does.

Bending so I’m just inches from her face, inhaling her every breath, I tap my finger under her chin.

“I knew you could do it.”

CHAPTER 18

FIA

Fear of missing out is a bitch.

Good thing I got her out of my system long ago. I used to always want to be in the middle of things, until fear kept me away from everything. This time, I’m grateful as hell to have missed out on the rest of the mayhem that took place in Miami. The crew went back to Private Landing after every show we performed. I can’t blame them—when in Miami and all that. But one night was enough for me.

A night I still can’t get off my mind.

After Jett brought me back to the hotel, I sat up in bed questioning my decisions. Did I really want to do this with him? Did I really want to think about our night together every time I saw him, or now, think about the unfiltered comments he has no issue making when I’m around.

Aside from a text I embarrassingly haven’t gotten rid of, Jett and I haven’t spoken since the club—I haven’t spoken to anyone.

Goodnight, girlfriend.

The message floats in and out of my subconscious, as I spend every second of every day plotting how to magically get myself out of this mess I’ve agreed to. How I could miraculously weasel my way out of being his fake girlfriend.

But it seems that I need him, and I fucking hate it.

The past two years have been low for me. Really fucking low. But this is a new record, even for me. I’d become helpless, needy, and really fucking controlled by my past. This was just the big giant bow to seal it all up.

Our Miami shows went as planned, thank God. I’d never been more grateful for muscle memory in my life.

Once the turbulence lulls, the plane jolts to a landing, signifying our arrival in Boston.

At this point in the tour, everything is becoming redundant. The flights, the stage, even dancing. It’s like my life is on loop. Back home, I kept things varied and fast-pasted. Controlled spontaneity helped me from thinking so fucking much.

Here, it’s all I can do.

For the past three hours, I filled almost an entire notepad with potential moves I want to try for Haven’s new song.